She Never Wanted To Go North
by You'reABirdOfTheSummer
Summary: Princess Myrcella, ward of the Starks faces death, loss and ruin when King Robert declares his children illegitimate, forced to flee as the great lords ride to war, she leaves her lover behind. Robert's lies force them apart with more than distance as Myrcella searches for the only thing which can secure her twin the throne without further bloodshed. Robcella AU.
1. The King's Plot

_The scent of battle was overwhelming, the sweet aroma of torn up turf, the acrid smell of bodies burning, the metallic tang of blood and the waft of thousands of men who had marched for weeks on filthy horses. The battle cries of brave knights, the screams of those being dealt a lethal blow, the sobs of the gravely wounded. _

_There were sparks in the air, adrenaline pumping through her veins and she felt she was infinite, the battlefield was swallowed into insignificance as she thrust her sword into the throat of a man thrice her size, she did not see the thick, dark blood bubbling from his lips as he fell because she was already spinning, her shining silver blade arching through the air and lodging itself in the skull of a man running up behind her. With a brutal yank she pulled it back and the man crumpled to the floor. _

_Was this what her uncle meant all those times he shared his battle stories, that famous Lannister fighting spirit? _

_"Princess." _

She woke with a start; her handmaiden was shaking her shoulder gently as she was slumped over the desk in her chambers. She looked outside, it was dusk over the craggy northern landscape.

"Princess, are you feeling unwell?" she asked.

"No, no," Myrcella said absently, trying to retain every detail of her imagination. "I just drifted off."

"The king and queen have summoned you and your brothers," she said.

"Thank you," Myrcella said, waving her away and trying not to look guilty. Why should she feel guilty about a dream? And more importantly why did her heart still beat with such ferocity, she was a girl, she would never truly go into battle.

* * *

Queen Cersei sat stiffly in her chair, it was crudely carved by her standards and much lacking in the regalia she would usually have insisted upon but such finery was lacking in the north. The bedchamber was large, the largest Myrcella had seen since their departure from Kings Landing. Every evening for the fortnight past, Myrcella had heard screaming and cursing from her parents' bedchamber and every day, seen the dark looks of loathing pass between them over meals.

Myrcella was worried. Her mother was never one to act with impropriety or allow others to read her emotions, but this evening her eyes were rimmed red, shining with unshed tears, her face drawn and pale. Her lord father, King of the Seven Kingdoms sat at the opposite end of the table ignoring his queen's obvious sorrow.

She glanced at Joffrey, his brow was furrowed, his green eyes darting from one parent to another, his jaw set hard. Tommen's small hands clutched her own with more force than she would have thought possible from one of only ten, he had climbed into Myrcella's bed every night this past week, sniffling that Mama and Father would not shush.

"Children, would you take a seat," their father said over the rim of his wineglass.

Two spent bottles sat on the table.

_King Robert Baratheon, the first of his name, King of the Andals and of the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. _

Myrcella recited in her head as she took a seat, oh how her overweight, drunkard father had shamed his titles, his family and his honour. She had heard the songs about his victory in Robert's rebellion, how strong, handsome and intelligent he used to be. Now the very site of him, a fat, reddened old man hiding behind an unkempt beard and belly swollen by ale made her stomach turn with shame.

He looked to each of them in turn, but his gaze lingered on his daughter.

"Can one of you tell me, why we travel to the north?" he asked.

"We are to visit the Starks of Winterfell," Tommen announced, a proud smile lighting up his round face. He was too young to feel the tension in the room as his elder siblings did, he was just delighted his parents were no longer shouting. Myrcella squeezed his hand.

"Indeed we are," Robert agreed. "But for what purpose?"

There was silence.

"Because you wish to appoint Lord Stark as Hand of the King," Myrcella said softly, averting her eyes from her father.

"Wrong," he announced. "A raven came two weeks past, the Hand has made an astonishing recovery." Myrcella frowned at this revelation.

"Then why are we not supping in the Red Keep?" Joffrey asked, his irritation bubbling to the surface. "Why have we travelled all this way, to the end of the world to catch our death of the cold?"

"Calm yourself brother," Myrcella murmured sweetly, to her twin.

"Stop playing this game with my children," Cersei commanded, her voice strained. "Tell them your design without this ridiculous guessing game." There was silence, Robert looked to his wife, she looked away but not before Myrcella could see the expression- wild, suffering and cruel- such was the hatred she had for her husband. But as soon as the princess saw such emotion it was gone, the queen stared into the fire with distant eyes, clutching a handkerchief in her long, slender fingers, knuckles white.

"Very well woman," Robert conceded, Myrcella's anger flared at the disdain he held for her mother. "My design, is to convince Lord Eddard to accept Myrcella as a ward in Winterfell."

She was winded by his words, her eyes widened and she seemed so far away from the room where she stood. She could hardly hear the cries of young Tommen or the shouts of Joffrey for her despair; it was as if she were encased in glass.

"You cannot leave Myrcella with the northmen!" Joffrey yelled. "She is my sister, my twin sister. How dare you leave her there as if she was the spawn of some traitorous Lord!"

"Joffrey you will hold your tongue," Robert Baratheon bellowed, spittle flying from his lips. "You are not king yet, you will be silenced or you will face my wrath."

Joffrey closed his mouth into a hard line, silencing himself, but he looking mutinous all the same. The king's harsh words only made Tommen cry harder.

_How many bottles have the maids already cleaned away? _Myrcella wondered hopelessly, anything to distract her mind from what her father had just said.

owHo

"Come, my sweetling," Cersei cooed, beckoning him into her arms, tears running freely over her rouged cheeks. "We will sit together in hush whilst your father talks to Joff and Cella." He ran as fast as his short legs could carry him, burying himself in the Queen's skirts.

"I need not explain myself to you, but I shall," Robert said, still concentrating on his angry son, rather than the daughter he was banishing to the end of the world.

"Myrcella is to be fostered at Winterfell, so that Sansa Stark may be fostered at Kings Landing," he said.

"An exchange of hostages?" Joffrey spat. "Why?"

"I need to strengthen relations with my wardens, Lord Eddard is warden of the North, but he would never give Sansa up to be fostered without some insurance."

"And is that what Cella is to you?" Joff demanded. "An insurance deal?" Robert stayed silent. Myrcella had never felt smaller.

"You are taking my twin sister away from me, for the sake of securing fealty from the north?"

"I am keeping this realm together!" Robert shouted. "As king that is my divine duty."

"You cannot even keep your own family together!" Joffery screamed, his fury warping his handsome face. Myrcella hadn't noticed her cheeks were wet.

"I shall not stand for this," Robert said, rising from his chair and stalking to the door. His gait was slow and swayed violently from side to side, his thick thighs and enormous belly giving him a malformed step. "We ride at dawn for Winterfell, I will return then."

"Curse you father," Joffery spat with such a hatred Myrcella had never seen. "May the seven strike you down."

"You would do well to hold your tongue," Robert said in a low, dangerous voice. "But as we are alone I shall excuse this folly, this once. You should be taking tips from your mother about how to keep affection for your twin alive despite the distance." He shot a dark look at Cersei, which none of the children understood and banged the heavy oak door behind them.

Cersei had wiped her tears away and instead looked stoic, as if even time could not change her, this show of strength was soothing to Myrcella.

"Come my sweetlings," she said in a low voice, extending her arms. Gently she enveloped Joffrey and Myrcella in her arms, Tommen still clutching at her legs and sobbing.

"Calm yourselves, my darlings," she instructed, stroking Joff's hair, she turned to him first.

"Your father is a cruel man Joffrey, but one day you shall be king and you can right the wrongs he has done you," she said, a steely look in her eyes. "What you must do, is make the people love you, make them love you, yearn for you as their rightful king and when this King falls you may rectify anything he has done. In the meantime, rest easy that your sister shall be safe whilst we have Sansa Stark and soon she will come home to us."

Joff looked at the floor.

"Can't you do something mother?" he asked, sounding like a child. "It is not fair for him to do this to us."

"I have tried sweetling," she admitted wearily, bitterly. "But he is the king. I was lured from Kings Landing under the same pretences you were. I have my fears that Robert faked John Arynn's impending death, he has returned to Kings Landing to rule in our absence." Joffrey's eyes narrowed and he turned to Myrcella.

"Do not fear sweet sister," he said. "For I shall ensure that justice is done for your fate."

"There's a good boy Joff, you will make a fine king," his mother said pleasingly. "Now you both must leave Myrcella and I to talk."

Joffrey left in a storm of velvet and Tommen's maid came to retrieve him promptly. When the door closed Cersei sighed, and for the first time Myrcella thought she looked old, tired. But it was only for a moment. Her mother could never look old, even if she lived to be a hundred.

"My sweet Myrcella," she sighed, running her slender hands over her daughter's silken hair. "How shall I go on without you?" Myrcella was the spitting image of her mother. She had the same hair, soft, sleek and shining like spun gold. Their features were similar, strong and beautiful, with large green eyes and soft pink lips and at fifteen Myrcella had almost developed the same curves and long, lean legs.

"Do you know where the king has gone sweet Cella?" she asked. She shook her head. "Think about it my sweetling, and speak freely."

She shifted her gaze to the ground.

"A brothel mama," she almost whispered, filled with shame at knowing such a place existed.

"You are correct, no princess of fifteen should know about such places, but you have been wronged by your father," she said, tracing her fingers delicately over the lines of Myrcella's face.

"Once I realised your father's design, I fought for you to stay at Kings Landing and when that proved fruitless I begged him for you to become betrothed to a Stark, but your father would not permit it. He did not want Lord Eddard to become the father of a princess. He has forbidden you to marry a Stark my sweetling, you must not become too attached to those you meet in the north."

"I thought Lord Eddard was father's best friend, I thought they fought together in the rebellion," she said.

"They did, but Lord Eddard has not deteriorated the way your father has, he can still ride a stallion that hasn't been specially bred for his weight, he is jealous and suspicious that he wishes to steal his throne," she explained.

"And does he?" Myrcella asked.

"No sweetling," she said. "The Starks are noble and honourable and if you wish to return to us, you must become their greatest friend. It is long past time the Lannisters and Starks united. Can you imagine, Joffrey as king, Sansa Stark as queen, the north has never really been part of the seven kingdoms, they are a queer folk, but if you stay with the Starks, they will conform."

"You want the Starks and the Lannisters to rule through Joff?" she asked, confirming her suspicions.

"Robert Barratheon was made to be a warrior, not a king. Look what happen when his crown was donned. Joff will be a good king and you can help him. It is a bad situation my darling, but you must make the best of it, until we can have you return. You are to be a ward of Lord Eddard and you are to win the affection he would give his own daughters."

"I understand mama," she agreed.

"You are a dear, sweet girl Myrcella, I shall be wretched parted from you," she sighed. "You will spend this night with me, I wish to have some time before my baby is parted from me."

* * *

"I don't understand why the King is coming," Bran sulked, crossing his arms over his short frame. He was unhappy that practicing his swordplay had come second to sweeping the yard and washing the banners. "If he doesn't plan on making father Hand of the King, why is he coming?"

"Quiet yourself Bran," his older brother said patiently. "The king is coming because he _was_ going to offer it to father, but then the hand recovered from his illness."

"Then why is he _still _coming?" Bran persisted.

"Because he was already north of the neck by the time the raven reached him and he is father's oldest friend besides," Robb explained. "Are you not excited Bran?" His little brother sent him a dark look for a twelve year old.

"Why would I be?" he asked. "So I can have more people better than me at archery in the castle, or because I'll have no space to practice getting better."

"You're only young Bran, you'll be almost as good as me by the time you're sixteen," he said with a grin. Bran rolled his eyes.


	2. The Walls of Winterfell

The last mile to Winterfell was the tensest of Myrcella's life. Joffrey rode on ahead atop his stallion with the king and their uncle Ser Jaime. Tommen was still so distraught that he was travelling with the maester they had brought with them from Kings Landing. The king would have to beg Lord Eddard to forgive his young son, for he had taken ill on the road. In reality he was suffering from a broken heart the way sweet infants are disposed to when being parted from one they love most tenderly.

Myrcella and Cersei were joined in the litter by a lady in waiting, sat in silence. Myrcella smoothed her teal blue dress self-consciously; tugging lightly at the jewel around her neck, it felt as if it were coiling tighter, ready to crush the breath from her lungs.

"May I hear about the Starks before I meet them?" she asked quietly as they approached. Her mother did not look at her; she was gazing sadly out onto the frigid landscape but gracefully waved a hand for her handmaiden to speak.

"There is Lord Eddard, my princess," she said slowly. "He was your father's ally in the rebellion and is known to be a most fair and honourable man. He is descended from the old Kings of the North, before the seven kingdoms became whole. He is married to Lady Catelyn, formerly a Tully of Riverrun, to the south, near the trident. They have five children, Robb is a year old than you and is known for his skill at swordplay. Lady Sansa is a year younger than you and is reported to be a most agreeable young woman, the spitting image of her mother when she was in her youth. Miss Arya, is again a year younger than Lady Sansa, Bran two years younger than her and Rickon is it but four, princess."

"I see," she replied in a small voice, twisting a lock of golden hair through her fingers.

Too soon she heard trumpets flare and the carriage rumble to a halt. She peered through the gauze at the window and watched as her father dismounted his horse, he needed a box he was so large, she flushed with embarrassment.

Faintly she heard a squire announce him, and the crowd in the cobbled yard bent the knee. He walked over to Lord Eddard, but to her, it seemed more of a waddle. She watched as he twitched his fat, gloved fingers, commanding him to rise.

He rose elegantly and Myrcella looked upon his face for the first time, a face as rugged as the north, with dark eyes, dark hair and a pride in his stance which Myrcella hoped she could one day emulate. There was tension in the air she could see, a few words were exchanged between the pair, but Robert chuckled heartily and pulled his old friend into his embrace. Myrcella wondered if Lord Eddard could see how false he was. She watched as smiling broadly he turned, gesturing for all of the commons to stand, before she could look at the faces of Lord Eddard's family, the squire had started speaking again and the door to her carriage had reopened.

"Presenting, her grace, Queen Cersei," called the squire. Her mother gave her a strained smile and stepped elegantly from the gilded carriage her ruby red gown pooling around her. Myrcella smiled at her mother, for she looked like a true monarch. Her tall golden crown was littered with diamonds and she walked regally to stand beside her lout of a husband.

_ How could her father reign when there was one as majestic as Cersei Lannister? _Myrcella thought sadly.

"Presenting Crown Prince Joffrey," she heard the squire announce and suddenly her insides were snakes. She took a deep calming breath and watched as her brother leapt from his horse, smiling amiably and look every part the royal heir. He greeted the Starks with what looked to Myrcella like genuine interest, he had magically lost his petulant airs, it seemed he had taken their mother's words to heart.

"Presenting Princess Myrcella," but she hardly heard the words. She channelled her mother as she gathered her skirts and stepped down from the carriage.

_Be graceful like Mama, try to have some of her beauty, her presence. _

Her silk shoe met the cold cobbles and she wished she had worn thick leather boots instead of these silly slippers. Drawing her grey furs around her tightly she raised her hand and gave a sweeping look about her, the crowds of people lined the dark walls. All of them had the look of the north about them. She gave a pretty smile and stepped lightly forwards.

Whereas her mother had disdainfully offered her hand to Lord Eddard, Myrcella curtseyed and bent her head.

"It is my great pleasure to meet you, my Lord," she said respectfully. "I must give my thanks to you and your lady wife for being our gracious hosts." Lord Eddard looked taken aback at her humbleness for a moment, but he soon recovered.

"It is my deepest honour, princess," he said, bowing low before her and kissing her hand.

"I thank you for your hospitality my lady," she said. Lady Catelyn eyed her curiously, a small smile quirking her lips. She had dark auburn hair and deep blue eyes that sparkled with some deeper understanding, she had the characteristic good looks of the Tullys and the years in the north had made her no less beautiful than she was fabled to be in her youth.

"It is my honour to receive you princess," she said, curtsying herself. Myrcella kissed both her cheeks and moved on to the eldest of their children. She had been so nervous at meeting the Lord and Lady she had not spared a look for the children yet.

The boy before her was scarcely a boy at all, he was tall, with broad shoulders, his auburn hair darker than his mothers, he also had her blue eyes and his father's strong jaw. Why had no one told her how handsome the heir to Winterfell was?

"You must be Robb," she said, giving him a smile and thinking of her mother's composure as she extended a hand.

"It is my honour, princess," he said, bowing and brushing his lips over her hand. Myrcella could have shivered with delight. "I hope you want for nothing during your stay in Winterfell, it is my family's great honour."

"You are mistaken, it is mine," she replied. She held his gaze for a moment.

Myrcella quickly moved on.

"Lady Sansa," she said pleasingly. "I have heard much about you, the tales do not do your beauty justice, I look forward to becoming your dear friend." She watched as Sansa battled to hide her happiness at her kind words.

"Princess," she said, her bright smile missed by none. "I am so glad you have come to Winterfell."

"Lady Sansa I would be most honoured if on the morrow you would deign to take luncheon with me," she said. She nodded furiously.

"Of course, princess. I would be most honoured." Myrcella leaned forward and placed a kiss on each of Sansa's cheeks and squeezing her hands sisterly before she moved on Arya. She was dressed less prettily than her sister, her gown had no accents and looked as if it had been thrown haphazardly on. Her dark hair and eyes gave her much more a look of Stark than her elder siblings.

"Arya Stark," she said thoughtfully. The young girl curtseyed dutifully, but Myrcella could see she held no joy in their meeting, like her elder sister.

"Princess," she mumbled.

"Ayra, I would be honoured if you would allow me to go riding with you soon," she said, leaning forward and lowering her voice. "I do not think your sister would like to ride the way I do." Arya's eyes widen and a mischievous smirk crept to her lips.

"I can ride," she said boldly.

"I knew you would," she replied, winking subtly.

"You must be Brandon," she said as she passed to a younger boy, again with the stark colouring.

"Yes my Princess," he said, bowing. "But everyone calls me Bran."

"My apologies Bran, I look forward to staying with you, you have all the looks of a knight in the making," she smiled at his sudden grin. She stepped again and half the court gasped as she crouched down, lowering one's height was seen as lowering oneself with humility.

"Hello Rickon," she said softly. The boy reminded her of a young Tommen somewhat, he looked afraid. His eyes were wide and his lip quivering as if he might cry at the pressure of being spoken to by the princess.

"My dear, I am from the south, I was wondering if you might teach me a few northern games whilst I am here, I do love to play games and you look like the best teacher here," she said slowly, rubbing his shoulder comfortingly.

He looked up from his feet and the quiver in his lip was gone. He did not smile but he nodded surely.

"Thank you Rickon, it is wonderful to meet you," she said, giving him a soft kiss on the cheek.

As she rose she turned to her parents, her mother gave a slight nod of the head and she knew she had successfully navigated the introductions.

"You must forgive my youngest Tommen," the king announced loudly. "He has taken ill on the long journey north, he will right as rain soon, but my dear wife wished to spare such formalities whilst he was unwell, he is only ten, after all."

Myrcella swallowed hard at his lie and shared a look with her brother. The king then offered his arm to Lady Catelyn who accepted it amiably and lead him towards the great hall. The queen extended her arm distantly to Lord Eddard, who joined her second in the procession. There was a second's pause before Joff approached the Stark children.

"Fair Lady Sansa," he said, bowing low. "Would you accompany me into your fine castle?"

"It would be my honour my prince," she said.

Robb stepped out of the line as they followed and bowed low before Myrcella.

* * *

Things were strangely different at Winterfell. Myrcella sat between Robb Stark and her mother at the feast and could hardly finish a full course.

"Does the food here displease you, princess?" Robb asked as he tucked into a leg of game.

"Not at all my lord," she replied. "It is just much heavier than I am used to in the south, to help you battle the cold no doubt. It fills me up very quickly." She would be mortified should Robb think her as rude as to snub the food at Winterfell.

Later the dancing started, the king and Lady Catelyn started the festivities but her mother and Lord Eddard both seemed equally ill-disposed to dancing. The Stark danced once with his wife and her mother once with her uncle Jaime.

Myrcella danced first with Robb Stark.

"You need not call me, lord," he said with the greatest respect. "My father is the Lord, not I."

"If you insist on calling me princess it is only polite," she countered. He grinned and looked away, her breath caught in her throat and she was glad his gaze was not focused on her.

"But you_ are_ a princess," he told her.

Next she danced with Theon Greyjoy, a ward of Lord Eddard.

"You know princess," he said as they dance. "I'm a prince too."

"Really," she said disinterestedly, assuming he was about to make a lewd joke. She had already learnt about the womanising ways of Robb's friend. He was handsome despite his mousey face and beady eyes, but he walked with an air of arrogance that was repugnant to Myrcella.

"I am prince and heir to the Iron Islands," he said. "Once there was time when my family ruled the Riverlands."

"Fascinating," she said insincerely, though Theon did not seem to notice.

"What do you say? A prince and a princess, I'm sure you can slip away from your guards tonight," he said, his voice silky smooth, but Myrcella just heard the slime. She cringed as she felt his hand slid lower down her waist.

"How dare you," she exclaimed, bringing up a hand and leaving a sharp, stinging handprint on Theon Greyjoy's stubbled cheek. There was silence amongst the guests all around them.

"I am a princess," she said firmly, before turning on her heel and stalking back to the dais.

"My sweetling," the queen said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "What did he say to you?"

"That he was prince of the Iron Islands and therefore I should sneak away from my guards whilst the castle sleeps, I did not allow him to continue further." Cersei's jaw set and she rounded on Lord Eddard.

"Theon Greyjoy is your ward my lord, I wish that he is taught his lesson, else I shall have his head for touching my daughter," she snapped. Lord Eddard nodded.

"My apologies my queen, I will ensure the boy learns his lesson," he said, bowing before he turned to the head of his household.

"I would like Theon accompanied back to his bedchamber and guarded, I want him told he is not to bother the princess again," he instructed. "There he shall await me; I shall visit his chambers when my duties are done at the feast."

"Yes my lord," the guard agreed.

"And discreetly."


	3. The Princess and The Bastard

Myrcella was having a lovely lunch with Sansa the next day when one of her father's men knocked on the door to the solar, summoning them to the great hall. Sansa frowned and apologised profusely for their interruption, she had no idea what her father could want with them.

"My father is no doubt with him, sweet Sansa," she replied calmly, careful not to let her sense of dread creep into her tone. "We should not keep them waiting."

In the great hall, Robert looked triumphant, Eddard solemn, Catelyn morose and Cersei looked neutral to most. Myrcella knew her mother better, she was being torn apart inside.

The five stark children lined up before the dais, where the two couples sat. Joffrey and Myrcella stood to the side.

"We have some news," Robert said, rubbing his hands together. "Lady Sansa, how would you feel about returning with my wife and I to Kings Landing?"

Sansa's mouth dropped open and she fell to one knee. "It would be the greatest honour your grace."

"Excellent," he said, clapping his fat hands.  
Myrcella felt sick.

"My daughter is to be fostered at Winterfell for a year," he announced.

There was silence. Queen Cersei looked physically pained.

With feet she couldn't feel Myrcella stepped forward to kneel before Lord Stark.

"I am most grateful for your hospitality my lord and lady," she told them, her gaze on the flagstones. "It is my only wish that I am an unimposing ward."

"Rise Princess," Lord Eddard said. "It is my greatest honour." She rose but did not look up, it was all she could do to keep her eyes dry.

* * *

On the final day of day of her parents' stay in Winterfell Myrcella sat with her mother all afternoon. Neither of them cried, in fact they hardly even spoke. She wanted nothing more than to cry and scream for her mother to never leave her, but she knew she must be strong. It would break her mother's heart all the more to see her weak.

That evening she went early to her chambers and clambered into her bed, tears spilling over her pale cheeks before she had sunk into the feather mattress. How long she was there before there was a knock on her door, she didn't know. All she knew was that she was so very alone.

The knock was soft.

"Come in," Myrcella called, hiccoughing slightly.

Her brothers poked their heads around the door, Tommen looked as distraught as she, and Joffrey was pale and drawn.

"Cella," he sighed, plucking Tommen from the floor and placing him at the end of her bed. Her twin came and dropped down heavily next to her, wrapping his arms around her. As her face hit his shoulder she was sobbing again. Tommen crawled up through the blankets, and by the time she stopped crying he had fallen asleep, his cheeks stained with tear tracks.

"I'm sorry, Joff," she murmured, stroking the soft, downy hair of her little brother as he slept. "I just… I just... how can I just be left here?"

"I swear to you Myrcella, father will pay for this," he vowed, his dark green eyes burning into her.

"Do you know why he is leaving me here?" she asked in a small voice. He broke their gaze, chewing his lip thoughtfully.

"I don't know, all I know that mama and Uncle Jaime were separated once, I don't know why. But I think father and mother hating each other have something to do with it," he said in a low, pensive voice.

"And because father hates me too," she murmured, sighing wretchedly and wiping the last of her tears away with the back of her hand. "This wasn't how my life was supposed to go. I know he dislikes us, but I always thought he would marry me off to some lordling in the south, give me status and fortune, rather than packing me off to the north as a ward. Princesses are never wards."

"I will make him pay for this Cella," Joffrey said seriously. "And when I become king, you can marry whoever you want. Any lordling you set your sights on, you can marry. Just to spite him. Do everything you can to spite our father."

Myrcella looked up at her brother, older than her by mere minutes, and only a few inches taller. His face was set hard, but his eyes betrayed how upset he was. Myrcella knew when they were little Joff could be cruel and mean, but he had grown out of it. Perhaps spending every waking moment with Myrcella since they were born had something to do with his temperament. Myrcella smiled.

"And what about you Joff?" she prompted. "Who are you going to marry, you must have a queen."

"I shall marry the greatest queen, I shall not make the mistake father did," Myrcella bristle. "No disrespect to mama," he corrected levelly. "She would have been the greatest queen the Seven Kingdoms had ever seen, had it not been for father's cruelty. Had they worked together…"

"Joff-"

"When I become king, you shall come to the Red Keep, and you shall sit on my council and you shall choose my bride," he told her. She laughed.

"But what do I know about queens?" she asked.

"If I could make you a queen Myrcella," he said, smiling tenderly. This was one of those moments when Myrcella thanked the Mother for such a wonderful twin brother. "I would."

She smiled.

"And when I choose this queen of yours, will you agree without hesitation?" Myrcella asked. "Treat her how mama should have been treated."

"Of course," he replied. "We are the same Myrcella, I trust your judgement as much as my own. I would never do you the dishonour, to turn out like father."

"You must promise me, you will be safe and try your best to be happy here," he murmured.

"I would promise you anything, brother."

Myrcella fell asleep next to her twin brother that night, with their little brother draped across their knees.

A she savoured the final moments of her childhood, rage at her father bubbled up from her content.

_What right did he have to separate family?_

* * *

They were leaving too soon.

She had prayed to The Seven, seven times a day since that day in the inn, but to no avail.

_The Mother, the Mother should not let this happen. She should protect my mother from this pain. _

She stood at the steps of Winterfell, clustered by Starks, whilst her family stood before.

"I, King Robert Baratheon, the first of my name, King of the Andals and of the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm pass my daughter Princess Myrcella of the Seven Kingdoms as ward to Lord Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North."

Her mother stepped forward.

"I, Queen Cersei Baratheon of House Lannister pass my sweet daughter, Princess Myrcella as ward to Lady Catelyn Stark of House Tully," she said in a low voice, smiling sadly at her. She then looked up, her eyes hard.

"Keep my daughter safe,"she commanded, her tone was threatening.

"I Lord Eddard Stark, hereby swear to protect Princess Myrcella and allow her into my home and hearth for a long as she may require," Eddard said solemnly.

"I Lady Catelyn Stark hereby swear to ensure Princess Myrcella is one of my family."

It seemed Sansa did not require the same oaths, as she was lower born than the family she was being fostered with. Her mother bent down to kiss her head.

"Be good my Sansa," she whispered into her hair. "Remember you are of the North and your family."

Her father enveloped her into a hug and her brothers and sister kissed her too, and helped her up into her carriage.

"Goodbye my darling," Queen Cersei said, wiping tears demurely from her eyes. Gently she stroked her golden hair and kissed each cheek. "I shall pray you for you every day my sweetling, we will be reunited soon."

"I shall miss you awfully, mama," she murmured, her own tears threatening to spill over, she looked to the floor.

"I know you shall sweetling, I shall write to you every day, I have left you a cage of your own ravens, if I do not hear from you at least every week I shall send up an army," she said, her voice was teasing, but the look in her eyes made Myrcella wonder if anyone could stop her from doing just that.

"You truly are my daughter Myrcella," she said, with a sad smile. With that she turned swiftly and climbed into the carriage, dabbing at her eyes with a patch of lace. Her sadness was befitting a doting mother leaving her child half a world away.

Her father came to her next.

"Goodbye Cella," he said loudly.

"Goodbye your grace," she said coolly, she hated it when he called her Cella, as if they were on terms for that kind of endearment. He frowned and looked down toward the horizon. He lifted his arms as if to hug her, but upon the look she sent him, he turned it into readjusting his furs.

"You truly are your mother's daughter," he sighed. Without another word he mounted his horse.

Tommen came next, sniffing and hugging her fiercely. He was quickly taken away before he could sob. Princes do not cry.

Joffrey was last, he hugged her tightly, and looked her straight in the eye.

"I will avenge you," he stated, in a voice barely more than a whisper. "I will come back for you."

"Goodbye Joff," she said sadly, hugging him again. "Look after mother, and Tommen too," she whispered as she embraced him. "If father will not care for them, you must."

He gave a curt not and mounted his horse with all the grace and airs the king did not manage.

"I give my sincerest apologies my lord and lady, but I am feeling quite under the weather, would you excuse me please?" she asked with a strange sort of pride at the tears which did not fall.

"Of course."

* * *

It was hours later when Robb found her sat in the godswood beneath the old heart tree. She heard him approaching, but continued to sit with her eyes shut by the water. He waited in silence, not wishing to disturb, she looked strangely serene.

"Good evening," she said in greeting.

"Good evening," he replied. "I did not know you worshiped the old gods."

"I didn't," she said curtly. "But the Seven didn't answer my most desperate plea."

"I can see you and your parents are very close," he commented, seating himself beside her.

"I love my mother dearly," she responded, clutching the locket she had given her for her 13th name day.

"I see," Robb replied under his breath, noticing the lack of love for her father.

"I thought you planned on coming hunting with us, a few days previous yet you did not come," he said.

"My mother had fought with my uncle, she was most distressed," she explained. "I did not want to abandon her."

"A fight?" he repeated. "They always seemed as though they got along amiably."

"My mother wanted Jaime to stay here to guard me, but he could not as he is one of the Kingsguard," she said. "They had the fight over breakfast and she was out of sorts all day, my uncle caught up with the hunting party." Jaime had spoken to her that day, he had looked anguished and asked her to make sure her mother was alright. It was one of those moments where Jaime had been tender to her, he had told her how he was proud of her before ruffling her hair irritatingly and with a signature smirk, left her once more.

"He is a fine hunter," Robb commented. "He is the one who killed the wildlings who tried to attack Bran."

"Arya said they had taken a prisoner, a girl," she said. A wildling girl was something she had never seen, it made her nervous, they lived as fallen women, their lives full of debauchery and sin.

"Yes, she now works in the kitchens, she yielded," he explained, then his voice went lower, his gaze softer, less formal somehow. "But you must be hungry; you have not appeared at the table all day. My mother worries."

"I am sorry to have inflicted that upon your lady mother," Myrcella said regretfully, rising from the damp earth. "I shall try my best to rectify that if you so wish."

As they walked the long corridors to the family dining room they ran into a young man around Robb's age, with dark hair and dark eyes, but a perpetually solemn impression.

"Robb," he called.

"Brother," her companion replied, lifting a friendly hand. The dark boy's expression soured and he lowered his head as he saw her.

"My apologies brother, I did not see you were with the princess," he muttered. Robb shot her a look.

"She is a ward in Winterfell brother, you must meet her sometime," he said, with a shrug and an apologetic tone. It struck her as strange that she had not seen this boy in all her time so far at Winterfell.

"I would not do her the dishonour," he said, making to bow.

"I think not," Myrcella said, stepping forwards. "Myrcella Baratheon, ward in Winterfell." The boy looked down at his feet and bowed low.

"Jon Snow," he said, as if the words were acidic on his tongue. "Bastard in Winterfell."

Myrcella let out a tinkling laugh and Jon Snow turned a beet red.

"Is that what you thought would offend me Mr Snow?" she asked, Jon's expression turned from embarrassment to curiosity. "I am quite aware I am sister to many a baseborn baby, anyone with half an eye can see my father's whoring." Robb's mouth dropped open at her language.

"If you will excuse me, I am expected at dinner."

* * *

Lady Stark had been most displeased when her husband had agreed to take everyone who wanted to go, on a ride through the mountains.

"Arya needs no more encouragement to be wild," she pointed out in earnest. "And what if something were to happen to the princess? There were wildlings on the last hunt."

"The girl will not thank me for locking her up in this castle for the next year Cat, you know that," he said, his low voice calming her nerves some. "Perhaps Arya will learn something from her."

"You cannot allow the princess of the seven kingdoms to ride with Jon Snow, Ned," she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. He turned, eyes hard.

"Must you speak of him in that manner?" he demanded. "He has never wronged you."

"His very birth wronged me," she replied icily.

Lord Eddard bowed his head and swept from their bedchamber sparing neither a second glance at her, nor a word- for he knew he could not take back words said in anger.

_Off to the godswood no doubt, _she thought bitterly.


End file.
